


Ascension

by Averia



Series: Dick Rare Pair Challenge Year Two [2]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Coming of Age, Dick Grayson-centric, Gen, Martial Arts, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27604409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Averia/pseuds/Averia
Summary: “What can you offer me, little Robin?”Dick could say that she offered. All those years ago. Now he is here. Maybe he would have four or three years ago, determined to make her listen and teach him. Teach Robin. Because she told him she would and that's half a promise. But time has passed. He has changed. She has too, or at least her attention has shifted, and Dick doesn't know - even after months - if Robin can still exist.
Relationships: Background Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Dick Grayson & Sandra Woosan, Past Richard Dragon/Sandra Woosan
Series: Dick Rare Pair Challenge Year Two [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004466
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40
Collections: Dick Grayson Fic Exchange 2020, Dick Grayson Rare Pair Challenge





	Ascension

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withthekeyisking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/gifts).



> Both of your prompts were great, Q. But I had to decide (for now) to go with only one of them, and the decision to build upon the meeting Shiva and Dick had in Nightwing #0 was easy. I hope you enjoy the first part of your exchange fic! 😊 
> 
> Background Info: This is a canon-fanon mix. Especially Shiva’s backstory. I took a little something out of every comic I have read over the years. Furthermore, this fic deals with cultures I am not familiar with (apart from internet research), if you find inaccuracies feel free to tell me.

The sea breeze rushes through the open windows, lets chimes jingle, and fabrics dance. Dick will miss the freedom he gained in the last months. Coming to the Philippines might have seemed like a strange decision to his friends when he told them. It's not as if he needs another fighting style beneath his belt. While Dick has learned most of his skills under Bruce, his upbringing has defined his fighting style just as much, and, in the last years, Donna and Kory have shown him techniques he would have never learned without their guidance.

Mixing those techniques and combining them with his own aptitude for athletics has made him into neither Batman, nor an Amazon or Tamaranean, and yet, he didn't feel complete when he stared down at the folded Robin suit, trying to leave it behind. He missed something of his own… (and now that he has it, he misses _them_. The Titans, and as unlikely as it seemed before the start of his journey, Alfred, and Bruce too. Which doesn't mean he isn't still angry at them and, above all else, hurt.)

The Escrima are warm to the touch. Sturdy wood. His second pair after the first one broke a week ago and signaled the end of his training under Master Tanishiri. He likes them as weapons more than the boo-staff. They are un-obstructing. Depending on where he decides to strap them, they will hold off harsh impact, will steady broken bones. 

He’s determined to make the best out of them, use them in every way possible. With the right technology, he could add little grabbling hooks, and once he has truly mastered them, he might just integrate electric circuits to the tips.

Proud of his accomplishments, he tidily puts them away in his backpack. Alfred would like the sight… not that the backpack has looked as organized for the whole duration of his trip and his training.

The last things he adds are the only two pictures he took with him. One is a small polaroid of the Teen Titans, a picture they made just before he left with a new vintage camera Vic bought. Kory has him squashed to her side. He can see the dusting of his cheeks even if no-one else can, feels the blood creeping into his face again. Before he left, Roy jokingly implied Kory would forget him the second he was gone just for Donna to none to gently cuff his head in response.

He wonders if they have been called to justice often since he last talked to them. They are his team. His friends. His family. And yet, he didn’t think that he’d miss them so much. Sometimes, he doesn’t see them for weeks or months before what they are (heroes, friends, always, forever) draws them back together as a team.

He recognizes now that circumstances are different. The Teen Titans. The League. Batman and Robin. His life consists of missions. He has never truly been alone. Not even in juvie. Someone is always there. And in the beginning, it was his parents, Haly, and all the other performers he has slowly started to forget the names off. The thought hurts more the longer he tries to remember names and faces of his childhood. It makes him wistful, so Dick huffs out a laugh, trying to escape the unwelcome feelings, and closes his backpack to pull it over his shoulder.

Teen Titans buttons cover the dark fabric. Symbols and colors he is so familiar with his heart soars. Seeing Titans merch in public hasn't been an unusual sight for a while now. His generation is famous. Robin is. It feels like forever since he put on the green leotard for the first time. 

But how long has it been? Only four? Since the Teen Titans formed, then broke apart just to reform with even more determination?

Sometimes, Dick feels older than he is, forgets how time passes. 

He felt old here. The students that learn under Master Tanishiri have a normal life. They don't have the same number of scars littering their bodies. Their minds have never been invaded by another. Their eyes too have never seen the horrors his have.

No Batman guided Dick to a Grandmaster of the Fighting Arts. Dick chose his Master among normal schools. Fighting and learning among ordinary students has been good, being one of many has been strange and exciting in one (not a leader, not a partner, not a sidekick, just a pupil), but the students recognize the _other_ in him, and so does Master Tanishiri with her perceptive brown eyes, and Dick does too, feels it down to his (breakable) bones.

“Gonna miss you, snarky bird,” which isn’t to say that he hasn’t made friends. He grins at Benigno, one of the older students. Their hug is short - strong, enthusiastic.

“I’m sure we’ll cross paths again,” Dick says, one hand remaining on the older boy's - man's really - shoulder, and he believes it. Benigno wants to take over from Master Tanishiri one day, and Dick plans to visit, plans to keep his skills sharp, and return to see what this place has become. “But I’ll miss you, dude.”

And that should be it. He should leave the Philippines with a little bit of heartache just like he left the Titans Tower. His home. But he is here now. East Asia. Away from Bruce. Away from the Teen Titans. Away from his duties.

He still has time.

 _When you decide you want more, little Robin,_ her words echo through his mind, _find me._

_Lady Shiva will show you how much more you can be._

Her voice has haunted him for years, and he wants _more_. He has wanted more since facing Deathstroke for the first time. Has wanted more since Brother Blood nearly tore his friends apart and his mind on top of that. (He has wanted more since the first time Bruce turned his back on him.)

A storm is brewing. Inside him. Around him. Dick knows and has learned that nothing gets easier with time. And no matter how secure his Escrima feel, they aren’t all he could have.

Hong Kong is a few hours away. Six by plane. Dick has looked it up. He shouldn’t. Lady Shiva is unpredictable, only searches for the thrill. Excitement is her life. Her offer might not even stand anymore. It has been years.

How old was he? Twelve? 

Four. Four since then. Four since the Teen Titans formed. 

Dick listens to the storm. The electricity in his veins. The stubbornness that made him Robin.

He’ll find her.

Hong Kong is the first step.

It’s her home.

[JUDGEMENT]

Here is what Dick knows: 

  * Lady Shiva, also known as Sandra Woosan, is the world’s greatest Assassin. She has trained under the same Sensei as Black Canary. A Sensei named Otomo. 
  * Sensei Otomo has his school in Hong Kong. Shiva largely operates out of the city. As an assassin for hire, she must have a contact person, otherwise, people wouldn't be able to employ her.



which means.:

  * Either Master Otomo knows how to contact her, or she keeps taps on him, knows when someone is interested in her. 
  * Maybe both?



The streets are busy, and the dojo is tucked away between skyscrapers. So inconspicuous that Dick would have walked right past it if he hadn’t known to keep his eyes open and his mind sharp.

Dick steps inside the small entrance hall, not knowing what to expect, and finds himself surprised. No matter what it looks like from the outside. The dojo's style is classic. The walls and the floor are wooden, Chinese, and Japanese calligraphy is proudly displayed. 

The wooden walkway he steps out on as he pushes the doors leading to the training room open frames the training area. It's not his first time in a dojo, even if Bruce mostly trained him in the cave, so Dick isn't surprised by the equipment displayed on his side of the room. The different tools are squared away, and Dick can see no nicks on the training ground that might betray the dojo's advanced age.

On light feet, nearly tiptoeing, he follows the walkway, passes the photos and award displays that indicate the viewing area, tries to recognize either Shiva or Dinah on any of the photos. He doesn't find Shiva, doesn't truly know what to look for (still, there are three women he can narrow it down to), but there aren't that many blond-haired and blue-eyed young women on the photos for him not to find Dinah grinning brightly into the camera, blackbelt around her waist.

He slides the shoji open and steps into a small room that leads towards the office, a toilet, and surprisingly, another entrance. He'll figure out later where it leads to. For now, he knocks on the office door. The sound nearly seems to echo. There is a strange silence to the place, and Dick isn't quite sure if he is making the feeling of being watched up.

Dick knows someone must be in the office. The lights were on, the training starts soon, and the entrance wasn't locked. He didn't simply walk into the dojo on a whim.

"You may come in," a voice speaks from the other side. Male. Dick doesn't expect Lady Shiva to know of his presence yet. Robin and Dick Grayson aren't interchangeable. Bruce and he made sure of that, and he changed into a disguise after stepping out of the restricted area at the airport. Still, some part of him insists that she already knows that he came to Hong Kong because of her. Deathstroke too is hailed as the world's best, and he certainly figured the Teen Titan's identities out. The question is, was his identity of interest to her? Does she care who he is beyond his fighting skills? Would she care to tell him if she knew his identity?

Either way, he isn't sure yet whether he will tell her his name once she accepts him as a student. Bruce hasn't often talked about his Masters, but Dick knows he didn't hide his identity from them. Bruce was himself during his training even if he didn't try to flaunt the Wayne name. Or maybe he did in the beginning, just never told Dick about such an adolescent failure.

(Because The Batman makes no mistake.)

"Néih hóu. Otomo-sifu?" Dick asks, continuing in Cantonese as he gathers a small nod from the old man sitting at a low desk, a pillow beneath him. "My name is Robin. It's a pleasure to meet you. I hope I'm not disturbing you?"

He gestures at the papers in front of Otomo and hopes his attempt at Cantonese isn't too grating. It falls awkwardly from his lips. He can feel it mixing with Mandarin even as he speaks, mostly because he never learned Cantonese. His head is still swimming with the vocabulary he absorbed in the last three hours of his flight. As multilingual as he is, even his language abilities have limits, no matter how often Gar calls him omnilingual. (It stings a bit that even if he excels, the next villain they meet might just have the exact ability he craves for.)

Maybe it's better that way. An American with fluent Cantonese might seem strange. Dick isn't sure what angle to play at yet. Should he already betray why he is here? Or see for himself, why both Lady Shiva and Dinah came to train under the elder man in front of him?

"Not at all. It's a pleasure, Robin," Otomo says, and the words should carry no judgment, but Dick hears a hint of amusement, and he wonders wherever Shiva told Otomo about him all those years ago. (He nearly craves for that acknowledgment. After everything that happened between Bruce and him... he wants it.) "What brings you into my dojo?"

There is a twinkle in the old eyes that betrays knowledge. If Dick didn't already know which kind - to some extent, at least -, he might just believe Otomo to be capable of seeing inside his soul. He slides onto the pillow in front of the table when Otomo indicates him to sit.

Maybe, he should try to speak Japanese. He definitely has a better handle on that language and given how Dinah always referred to him as Sensei instead of Sifu, his surname, and the style of the dojo, Dick believes it is one if not _the_ mother tongue Otomo speaks.

"I was wondering if I could join training today, or watch. I have heard good things about your dojo, and it would be an honor to see you teach."

"Ah," Otomo responds, expression barely shifting as he thinks the request over. "I wasn't aware that my dojo is famous outside of the neighborhood."

Dick shrugs, smiling. The mask of careless tourist slips on like a well-worn slipper. "There are some exceptional fighters that have trained under you all around the world. I'd say your reputation far exceeds the neighborhood."

"Such sweet-talk from a young," Otomo's lips pucker into a small frown before he finally decides on, "European."

Dick shrugs, internally pumping his fist up at the misinterpretation. "I have seen Dinah Drake fight," he allows himself to say, a little haughtily, and Otomo chuckles.

"Seen it?"

Dick cocks his head, feels the excitement return that has brought him to Hong Kong. "Trained with her. Only a little, though. She is a close friend of my foster father and sometimes took care of me. For as long as I was with him anyway."

Otomo looks slightly surprised by the revelation, and Dick thinks back to his time in juvie, to the one social worker that would play basketball with them so no one would get hurt. He thinks of standing in front of the League, seeing them all for the first time, looking up at them, and yet not quite knowing why. Some of them will never have fought the fight for as many years as he has. Some of them are closer to his age than to Bruce's. 

Dick swallows the sudden envy down.

(The League tried to break the New Teen Titans up before they fully formed. Bruce kicked him out because of his naivety and his youth. He is green behind the ears no matter how much he grows, no matter how much he thinks that he is doing the right thing. Yet. _They_ aren't subjected to the same scrutiny.)

"I would like to see what Dinah has taught you. Even if I'm afraid that you won't be able to join our training today."

Otomo gives no explanation, but Dick takes what he can get. He is dipping his toes into uncharted waters, doesn’t expect anything to come of it already. But, if he can get to his big fish like that, all the better.

"I would feel honored to show you," Dick replies, and Otomo nods, standing and telling him to follow. They step out onto the wooden walkway and pass the green slate stone before entering the changing room.

"Quite a few tourists enjoy specifically held courses that introduce them to the martial arts. We have Gi right here. You may wear one that fits you," Otomo says as he gestures at the fighting attire, "I will wait for you outside."

Dick nods, watching him leave, and wonders if this is the right approach. He will have to make his decision before he steps out onto the training mats. Will he show his true skill, or will he hide it? Has Otomo recognized the other in him just as Master Tanishiri did or has he not?

Dick takes the obi and can't help the wry smile as he binds it around his waist. White isn't the color he has worn for years. He has been a black belt even before he was officially allowed to wear it.

By the time he emerges from the changing room, Otomo is sitting on the slate stone. Meditating no doubt. While Dick hasn't been in a dojo often - except to get official belts every year since he turned ten - Bruce was keen on the tradition to stand, kneel, then bow, and rise again as a form of respect and a gathering of thoughts. Calmness is far from his mind though, and he believes Otomo knows.

Being in a Gi isn't that different from being in his Robin suit. His mind wires differently. His body knows to act in a split second. It draws his eyebrows together without conscious will. Raised fists do the same to him. Make him think: Danger. Attack. Evade. Apprehend.

The storm has returned, and he is in its eye.

"That look I know well," Otomo muses, "I could nearly mistake it for Siu Jerk Jai's."

Dick's lips twitch. _Little bird._ Oh, he'll never let Dinah live that down. (If he survives Shiva.)

"But there is something other underneath. More than determination."

"I get that a lot," he says (can’t keep the sharpness out of his voice) because he does, lets the smile develop that always comes with the power rush. It makes his eyes go wider. Sometimes, he thinks, Bruce was scared of it. Still is. The way he fights with his whole body in ways Bruce will never understand. Twirls and kicks are his language. His laughter echoes. His smile is bright 

Otomo hums. "Shall we fight?"

"Yes," Dick answers, bowing with one hand in his fist. The storm is ripping at him. He has been around people that exceed humanity for far too long. Aliens. Amazons. Changelings. Cyborgs. Speedsters. Atlanteans. (Even Batman. The dark legend that he is.) And he hasn't fought with just his hands in the last few months. His fights with Master Tanishiri were far and few in-between, the only ones in which he didn't hold back, but even then, he was restrained to Escrima.

He rises to the balls of his feet, and this time he lets it out. The energy he has felt since stepping away from Benigno.

Determination thrums through his veins along with passion. There is no target but Sensei Otomo. And still, past that first blow, Dick reins it in as tightly as he can. Their fight isn't on the street. Their fight is in a dojo.

Respect is at the forefront of his mind.

Still, the fight makes him smile. Smile in a way he hasn't often in the past years. Freedom isn't out of his reach. It's right here for him to grasp if only he can catch it. The thought spurs him on.

Otomo adopts different fighting techniques as smoothly as any top tier fighter Dick has fought in the past. He wonders if Bruce will be like Otomo one day and dismisses the idea with a laugh that dares to cross his lips. 

_Bruce._ Bruce will never truly come out of the cave to see the light. Dick has made peace with that fact. He had to. 

Otomo’s hands move, and Dick prepares for a kick only to freeze when he recognizes a kung fu style. Crane, maybe, and Dick redirects his kick meeting the ground just shy of Otomo’s feet, the power lets him twirl over Otomo's head to hit the mats behind the man. His aggression bleeds out, gone as easily as it formed.

The way Otomo holds his hands looks. Meditational. Traditional. A nice blend in, but not made to counter a direct attack from above. Not to mention at odds with the styles Otomo used before.

Dick remains crouched on the ground, gaze falling to the mat his kick hit. It's blasted open, foam escaping. Something curls in his chest that's neither pride nor guilt. A training fight isn't a place for such harsh attacks, but that too might be why he chose Escrima. It was something new, not driven by the instinct he has culminated over years. He doesn't kill, but he hurts and incapacitates. (And the number of permanent injuries he inflicts on normal humans have only increased since he got used to super-powered threats. It eats away at him at night.).

But he made his decision. Otomo now knows.

Slowly, he rises.

"You are still learning," Otomo speaks, hands clasped behind his back, "But I don't believe you could learn from me any more than an eagle could learn from a crane. I think you know... Dinah, you said, yes?"

"Yes," Dick replies, and Otomo nods.

"Come back tomorrow and I might have what you are searching for, Robin."

" _Arigato, sensei_ ," Dick says, bowing again, not missing the way Otomo hesitates as he watches him leave. Dick returns to the changing room. His heartbeat is calm, but the tension has stayed. A night of crime-fighting should do the job. His fingers itch to test his Escrima.

He expected to feel lighter after visiting the dojo, but all Dick feels as he walks out of the building through the second entrance that leads him into an alley is the anxiety curling in his chest. He has started the hunt, and he will continue it even before a new day begins. Sleep will not come to him anyway.

Dick stops at a small vendor to buy three stuffed pleasures and candy in coconut wrap. His sweet tooth will never quite go away, and the Teen Titans never set the same dietary restrictions Bruce and Alfred had him on during his younger years. He is glad for that even if he has never strayed away from his herbal teas in favor of coffee.

Not wanting to waste too much time, he settles into one of the countless gardens that seem to dot Hong Kong with green to eat his lunch, all the while trying to concentrate on what counts.

  * He has a month left before he has to find a sound justification to stay away longer. 
  * If Shiva wants him, she won't take that long to find him. 
  * Tomorrow, he will meet someone Otomo thinks can teach him, but there is no reason to presume he meant Shiva.



Dick isn't sure if he wants to meet her yet. He thought it would take longer to find her. He hadn't thought a fight would decide what is to come so fast. 

A voice sounding suspiciously like Donna tells him to take a time-out before he can get obsessed with Shiva, but he can't. Not now. Not yet. Not until he is a true step further. ("And then, Dick? Then there will be another step to take.")

The wind picks up again, caresses through the grass, and makes the pond ripple. Faintly, Dick catches the white shadows of fish beneath the water. There is still the burn of chili in his mouth. He breaths in concentrates - and there it is.

"You're already here," he whispers into the wind.

“Your mind is as sharp as I expected,” Shiva answers, and he looks to the left, only for Shiva to step to his right. The small miscalculation makes the hairs rise on his neck. She doesn't sit down beside him, stares into the distance, at a goal only she can see. Her long black coat billows in the wind, reveals the red qipao-like top she is wearing. She looks so different from the last time their paths crossed. Strangely normal. But, even now, Dick wouldn't mistake her for any ordinary citizen. Her presence is too sharp, too demanding.

“I heard you want to train," she says, then tilts her head to look at him. "You are not a beginner, yet not a master. What can you offer me, little Robin?”

Dick could say that she offered. All those years ago. Now he is here. Maybe he would have four or three years ago, determined to make her listen and teach him. Teach _Robin_. Because she told him she would and that's half a promise. But time has passed. He has changed. She has too, or at least her attention has shifted, and Dick doesn't know - even after months - if Robin can still exist.

( _You are being more reckless every day. Gotham is no place for that. Leave._ )

"I could go to Richard Dragon instead," Dick says, watching as the golden trumpet tree rustles in the wind. Yellow flowers fall to the ground. He bites into the candy, coconut on his tongue, then cilantro as the chewy yet crunchy sweetness floods his mouth.

"Dragon?" Shiva asks, calm, yet there is something chilling underneath. Dick swallows, mouth suddenly dry, his body shifting out of reflex.

"Batman trained under him. He’d train me too," Dick hums. After their encounter four years ago, Bruce mentioned Shiva when speaking about Richard Dragon. Their almost decade-old rivalry. "If I asked him, how I ask you now."

Shiva grins sharply amused by his insolence. Intrigued by his knowledge, maybe. She was prepared that day Batman and he came across her. Her tricks weren't limited to fighting. Dick's are neither, and he will only figure out more. It's what he does.

"You came prepared. Not like last time," Shiva says, "You've learned."

"I hope so," Dick injects into the pause she leaves, and if anything, her amusement gets more intense.

"Good," she lets the word ring. "I will teach you, little Robin. I will teach you how to kill Richard Dragon."

"Defeat," he says without missing a beat, and she cocks her head, strands of dark hair flying in the wind.

"Where is the difference?"

[SUSPICION]

Dick hears the window slide open, isn't sure if she allows him to hear or if he has gotten that good. His gaze opens to a dance of shadows, to her silhouette painted against the wall of his hotel room by the brightness of the moon. She said she would come for him. Dick should have expected it would be like this. Not that it matters much. He hasn't slept for even a second.

Yet, Otomo said tomorrow, and Dick won't forget those words. It might be unimportant, but Dick has found that so few things are in the world he lives in.

"Awake, little Robin?"

Dick frowns, not sure how he betrayed himself, but he moves up to face her. Her coat is gone, exchanged for a shorter jacket as she crouches in the window of his hotel room. Her features are carved out eerily by the silver light. She looks like a vengeful spirit. She is. 

"What are we doing?"

Information is what Batman and Robin thrive on, and even if Dick wants to leave Robin behind, _has to_ , (It hurts too much to keep it. Keeps him confined like a bird in a cage, Bruce's hand forever hovering over him.) information is also what Richard Grayson needs.

"A test. One you'll like," she discloses. The flatness of her voice still manages to sound teasing. "There are robbers meeting in a half-finished skyscraper tonight. I plan to intercept them. They have gotten hold of something I'm interested in."

Dick slips out of bed, getting as ready as he can get without a proper suit. Her words could be Selina’s, but her gesture and posture and tone is decidedly not. A hoodie will have to do, as well as slightly reinforced pants paired with steel-capped sneakers. Shiva raises her brows at his wooden weapons.

"What are those?"

"Escrima," Dick replies.

"Well," she returns, flatly. "That's unfortunate."

Dick grins, bouncing them off his shoulders like drumsticks. There is no time like now to test them.

"Wouldn't call them unfortunate."

Her laugh is a huff. "There is no point to non-lethal weapons."

Dick's brows jump up in return, and he slips his new weapons into their holsters at his thighs, walking towards Shiva, then sprinting to follow as she lets go of the window frame. Her grin is sharp as she lets her body fall, attentive eyes never leaving his face. 

"There is no point to weapons in general."

Dick laughs, plummeting through the air and then curling together into a ball, speeding up his fall and suddenly he is nearer to the ground and the roofs than her. For a moment, her eyes seem to widen as she is forced to follow his descend.

"Sure. That's why you were armed to the teeth last time we met."

"Between me and you, little Robin. Is a world of difference," are her words the second they meet the roof instead of plummeting to their deaths, Shiva only a hair's breadth behind him.

"Doesn't seem like it right now," Dick quips, can't help it, and they spur each other on. Shiva's brown eyes are wild as they race across the rooftops. The buildings wary in height to an extent he is used to more from New York than from Gotham. Hong Kong seems all skyscrapers, and yet Dick realizes which one Shiva means the second they draw nearer. Arguably, the yellow crane is a huge giveaway. Then again, there are a lot of yellow cranes all over the city.

They jump into the half-finished building through a wall without a window. Seventh floor if Dick counted correctly, and Shiva holds a finger to her slightly curling lips. Her hair is mused, wild atop her head. Her eyes gleam in the faint light the clouds allow to come through. Her excitement is contagious. She liked their run, and Dick mirrors her pleasure, only with a far bigger grin.

(Racing across rooftops without anyone trying to gather him up is indescribable. Dick loves to be taken flying. No matter if it's Clark or Kory or Donna, but he misses a partner that understands what dancing across the skyline means. Once upon a time, Bruce did.

Probably.)

As much as he craves to ask which floor their targets are on, Dick holds his silence the way she indicated. The storm that has been pulling at him for more than a day by now, coils in his chest. He followed her because he came to Hong Kong for nothing else, but a voice suspiciously sounding like Bruce calls him to attention, commands him to not forget who she is. Kory's worry he feels too, pressing down on him. She worries a lot about him, and he'll never be able to appreciate it wholly. Too proud. Too uncomfortable with worry. But he knows that her feelings are warranted, no matter how careful he hides that realization from the others.

They follow the half-formed steps into the darkness.

Dick hears the undistinguishable murmurs before he catches glimpses of light, and they begin to slide down the steps more than walk, hiding along the concrete to look down at the men on the fourth floor. Dick wishes he still had his mask, but Bruce took that away from him together with the cape. He didn't even tell his friends what exactly Bruce did.

He told them he left the cape behind.

They stop on a metallic platform, which betrays that the fourth floor will either be a storage area or a workstation that can easily be supervised. No matter why the platform is there, though, they remain enveloped in shadows as they crouch above. All the robbers brought are flashlights and floodlights that don't reach as high as the ceiling.

In Gotham, no-one makes such a mistake anymore.

Dick understands some of the words the six men say, catches a glimpse of a black case on a metal table. Beneath it, the plan of the building stretches out. _Sword_ registers to him as one man's mumbling turns a bit louder, and he guesses that is why Shiva has decided to intercept the criminal transaction. _Museum_ is the next. Dick will have to look into that once he is back in his hotel room. Museum heists are scarcely insignificant, though that might be his past encounters with Catwoman speaking.

Shiva's hand moves beside him in a sign he knows well, and Dick nods, never turning his gaze away from his targets. One is standing close to the table. Another a bit further behind. Two of them line the stairs to the third floor, another two stand beside the floodlights. Presumably guarding them.

 _Was born ready,_ he thinks with a twist of his lips, and he believes, she knows without the need for spoken words.

They push off the platform in one go, Dick attuning himself to her movements. A skill learned through years of partnerships with different people, refined as much as possible as they raced over Hong Kong. No shadows betray their arrival, the light far below them.

“Robin.” 

His name is clear, and Dick's head snaps up, the hood of his hoodie elevating. Her hand opens mid-flight. Dick can’t close his eyes fast enough, can't turn his face away. He rolls off the ground into a crouch. His eyelids stick together, and his Escrima fly towards the two men nearest to the table before his momentum truly stops.

He should have used them to knock out the lights instead, Dick thinks with sudden clarity. His breath thunders in his ears as everything turns quiet, the world suspended. 

Dick flicks back the second the first gunshot booms in his ears. He knows he has to keep in motion. So, he breaths through and focuses despite his heart beating a mile per hour. He has fought in the dark all his life. He has fought surrounded by smoke and wearing a blindfold. He has trained for this.

The room is grand. There aren't many things he can use to fight, instead, Dick aims for the floodlights, foot crashing through the glass into the circuit.

He ignores the tickle of electricity, keeps moving and listening. A shot whizzes past him, and despite himself, Dick misses his cape. It betrayed so much about his surroundings. He kicks the next one down with a foot, feels more than hears the bullets hit the concrete in a line beside his shoulder. He twists, the guy falls, and Dick is up, using him as a jumping-off point, knocking his face into the concrete before he is on the next one. He grins in the man's face as he grasps the gun, pushing it against the man's chest, and rises over his head with a jump, slamming him down.

A nose gives way beneath his fist, and the commotion turns quiet. No other voice arises. All Dick can hear is his breath, and his head cocks, his hearing sharpening. Dick knows that he has counted correctly, but more men might have been waiting, might have heard the commotion.

He tries to get the sticky substance from his eyes and stops when rubbing only makes it worse.

“What did you do?” he asks, trying to rein his starting anger in and ignore his quickened heartbeat. _He should have known._

No answer is given. All he hears is a hum.

"Even like that, you didn't kill one of them. I'm almost disappointed," Shiva sigh-smiles in that way Dick is kind of getting used to already. His body tenses as he registers her body heat in front of him, the scent of Jasmin. "At least you made them bleed."

Pain explodes below his ear, burns across his jaw. His muscles tense, then relax, his ears ring and his legs buckle. Consciousness leaves him before he ever hits the ground.

[UNEASE]

Dick wakes on his side. His jaw aches. The ground isn't as cold as it should be, neither is it as hard. There is no concrete. Wooden boards line the ground. They are rough beneath his fingertips, groves prominent. He doesn't know if he is in a house.

His eyes still won't open. The same sticky tar-like texture as before keeps them closed. 

The sun warms his skin. He doesn't hear a sound, and his heartbeat picks up no matter how hard he tries to control it.

Dick breathes through slowly, tries to concentrate on the meditation techniques Bruce thought him and that he perfected thanks to Donna.

He can't hear his breathing either.

Apart from the sun and the wood and his clothes, he feels nothing against his skin. There is no wind. Maybe he is in a room after all.

Slowly, he pushes up, hands searching over the wood, following the path of the rills. His fingers curl around the edge of the wood boards. A platform. He doesn't know how deep the fall is.

His Escrima are gone. They are the only weapons he took with him to meet Shiva. Bruce would call it sloppy. _Stupid._

He hopes Shiva took them with her. He's going to end her if she didn't, the world's best fighter or not. They mean something to him already. More so than even Dick thought they did. His hands feel empty without them.

Carefully, Dick shifts over the platform, trying to figure out how big it is without falling off. No visuals and no sound leave him in near vertigo. His left foot slips over the edge, and then he lets both of his legs dangle over the wooden platform, hands still exploring the quadratic shape. He can't feel the ground with his feet. Nausea tickles his throat. His stomach tightens and swoops.

He finds a thicker wooden board, something steady that will guide him along to... somewhere. Dick swallows, a little short of breath. He is in unknown territory; Shiva might be watching him. He doesn't think she would leave him among enemies without a way to defend himself, but he could be wrong. He doesn’t know her.

(But he should. Bruce would know her. Would have waited before going to Hong Kong, would have searched out more than Sensei Otomo.)

Steadily, Dick advances, counting the seconds and his movements as he crawls across the wood. His nails claw into the surface.

An attic, he thinks and tries to smell anything. Dust and wood are the strongest scents he can catch, but there is the smell of fresh herbs too. A house, then. Maybe a shed. 

His hands touch a wall, and he slides them down the smooth surface to get a good grip around the wood. He lets his feet dangle again, then he dares to go lower, hands holding him afloat, biceps working as he slowly lets his body stretch out. His nails lightly break through the wood as his feet search for any kind of leverage, sliding along the wall, kicking out in front of him.

He hits something with the tip of his boot, a dresser, maybe, and he tries to get nearer to it, hands slipping. For a second he thinks he has it, but then something gives way, makes the thing move, and he falls, twists into a flick flack before he can drop onto his butt, and rolls again, remaining crouched. He isn't prepared at all for something hard-hitting his stomach, it burns along its expanse, digs deep into his skin, and Dick flies back against the wall, can imagine the crack. Pain races up his back as he slumps together, spit drips out of his mouth, his fingers flex, sand gathering beneath his nails, his stomach cramps.

This time he feels the air shift, barely gets out of the way. And then it's a dance to evade... _them_ , he realizes. His Escrima.

He is pushed outside the door Dick notices, can feel the wind against his sweaty skin, and Shiva follows his every step, hunting him across what Dick suspects is a courtyard like an animal no matter that he drips over stones, stumbles across wood (a bridge!) and falls into the water.

Soaked, Dick emerges from the stream with a splutter, and his eyes open, vision still slightly impaired by the stuff she threw at him. For a moment, the sunlight blinds him, makes his eyes water. Shiva is just a dark shadow standing above him. But his mind catches up frantically. It's already the middle of the day.

His gaze settles onto the Escrima, and he moves. The water moves with him, splashes across her clothes, but she is turning her body already, using the shift to crash the Escrima into his side. Dick jumps off the low stone lantern beside the bridge and keeps his distance, trying to find a way through her defense.

"A little anger suits you well," she speaks, "You want your little kiddie weapons back?"

Dick regards her, unimpressed. "Sure, I like to keep it PG-13."

"As is reflected by your fighting style," Shiva replies with a chuckle, easing out of her fighting stance, putting the Escrima into the pockets of her trousers.

"Making it easier for me to take them?" Dick asks, mind working to figure out how he can take them back from her.

Her laugh carries with the wind, genuine for once. "You're welcome to try, little Robin, but you won't get them back before you haven't learned to fight without a weapon."

Dick frowns, face hardening. "I can fight without a weapon."

"Not good enough," Shiva replies, ignoring his outrage as she turns her back on him. "We are finished here. For now."

Still soaked, Dick keeps standing in the sunlight, fingers curling into fists. He knows the game too well to fall into anger thanks to taunts alone, but he knows she will slowly chip away at him.

With a calming breath out, hand coming up to rake through his wet hair, he follows her towards the house, gaze roaming over the courtyard as he goes. It's a compound. Looks quite traditional though Dick isn't familiar enough with either Japanese or Chinese buildings to recognize how much.

Shiva slides the wooden door open without a glance back. The reinforced glass windows are frosted, give the illusion of paper walls to the point that Dick believes it has been designed to be that way not just for mimicking the traditional shoji sliding door.

"Welcome to my home," she invites him in. The smell of jasmine tea is stronger inside, and Dick glimpses two steaming cups on a low table in front of a stylish couch as she walks on. "Sit down. Let's talk."

Dick moves forward, stealing a glance at the Escrima as he passes her. He itches to try to get at least one back.

"Why did Sensei Otomo say that you would come for me today?"

"He said you might hyperfocus," she sends him a little grin as she sits down on the shorter end of the couch, tugging her legs close in a cross-legged position. "Sofu set a date he thought fit. I was not interested in waiting."

 _Grandfather,_ Dick thinks, keeps the new information to himself.

"Barely any information is unimportant," Dick replies, and in a way, she just confirmed it.

Her lips twist into a smile. "You would say that," she trails off, gaze sharp, "The point stands, useless information has no place in our minds." 

Inside the house, in the shadows, the clothes stick to his skin coldly, but the tea helps.

"It wasn't useless though."

"Hmm. What will you do with your new information then?" Shiva asks with a tilt of her head as if she is doing nothing more but indulge him. "Threaten me? Ineffective. Use him against me? You’re not there yet, little Robin."

"His importance opens a line of communication, a path to your whereabouts," Dick responds. _It betrays that you care more about people than it seems,_ Dick doesn't say. 

Shiva hums, settling her now empty cup down. "If you want to survive. You’ll have to step out of your mentor's shadow, and overanalyzing my every word isn't the way, Batboy."

Dick's jaw clenches at the name. "I know that." He can admit that anger swings in his voice no matter how much he tries to hold it down. "I will. Robin is my past. Batman is my past."

Her eyebrow raises, her gaze more interested, more appreciating than before.

"I," Dick hesitates, hands interlacing and left leg swinging, "I already have something new."

Shiva cocks her head, leaning further back. "New?"

New. Better. Something that truly doesn't tie him back to Bruce. The only one who knows that he has already chosen a name is Clark. It seems nearly too personal to tell her. His friends should know before her. But he is too proud to keep the name from her.

"Nightwing," he says. "A catalyst of change. The Kryptonian God of Rebuilding."

His words earn a laugh, Shiva's smirk nearly makes him bristle. "The second you are free you try to hide behind an even larger shadow. How disappointing."

Dick feels her words like a hit to his solar plexus. How dare—

"Is Nightwing you or Superman?"

Dick feels his anger rise further. Clark helped him when he was at his lowest. Clark gave him direction when Bruce kicked him out.

"Nightwing isn't Superman's," Dick snaps, "It's a sign of trust. I earned it."

Shiva raises an eyebrow, unconvinced.

"A rebuilder is nothing without a destroyer, and a destroyer is nothing without a rebuilder. Forget your Nightwing. Your Kryptonian God."

"There is Flame-"

"But they aren't one," Shiva replies, clipped, bored. "If you cannot destroy. If all destruction you know is done by another that someone is what you call evil." 

Her words brook no argument, and in a way, her words ring through. Clark did not describe Flamebird as a type of evil, but Dick had thought the same way when Clark had first told him about the mythos. Still, he doesn't want to admit it. He doesn't want her to be right. And he wants…

(Clark is the one of the Leaguer’s he respects the most. _Wants_ to respect the most. But Clark didn’t try to go against the others either when they tried to tear the New Teen Titans apart.)

Her lips quirk. "His trust, you might have earned. The name you did not, and, believe me, names _are_ earned, not given, Little Fox."

Dick blinks at her, surprised. "Little Fox?"

"You looked quite like one when you tried not to die. And I have it on good authority that your laughter can be quite frightening."

[DISCOMFORT]

Dick slips out of his wet clothes and dries off with a towel Shiva left in his room before dressing in another of his reinforced pants and a fresh if washed out band t-shirt. It was the first birthday present Roy bought for a friend after leaving the Queen household. Dick remembers Roy's embarrassment as he held out the Beatles shirt obviously purchased from a flea market... A washed-out Beatles shirt from a flea market for the ward of a billionaire because of their British butler. Dick still doesn't understand why Roy thought he wouldn't get the joke. He has been wearing it for training ever since. Usually with the Teen Titans, not with Bruce. Not that Bruce and he have trained much in the last year. And yet, Roy was still surprised when Dick placed it into his backpack right beside Zitka.

His backpack had felt heavy then, bursting at the seams. But, sitting on the sleeping matt now, his backpack seems small. Over the last months, some of his clothes were destroyed, things were left behind. It's the nature of traveling. Dick learned that lesson young.

He doesn't think Shiva went back to the hotel room to retrieve it, can't help but wonder who the courier might have been. There doesn't seem to be anyone on the compound apart from the two of them, but that doesn't mean a lot. He hasn't looked around yet. Has barely been awake for more than an hour.

The pictures stare happily back at him as he looks through his things to ensure all Shiva has taken are his Escrima, and he feels almost guilty that he plans to never tell his family and friends what he did in Hong Kong.

Nothing is missing, and Dick wonders if she will carry his Escrima by her side for the whole time, wonders if she expects him to try and steal them back. 

Should that be his goal?

He picks up his wet clothes with a sigh, then walks back into the courtyard. There was a clothing line he saw, and he doesn't have clothes to spare. Even after Bruce sent most of his stuff to the Titans Tower, Dick didn't unpack a lot before he left. Too angry. Too disappointed. Too hurt.

The sun is starting to go down again, painting everything in a golden light. The temperature has dropped but it seems dry. Hopefully, the wind will have done its work by tomorrow.

The downward slope of the ground is obvious now that he isn’t focused on trying to survive. Dick guesses that they are on a hillside, though where exactly, he isn't sure.

(Bruce. Bruce would know. Bruce would tell him he should know.)

The line retaliates his anger with a snap back that almost earns him a red stripe across his face. Dick frowns at the clothes, face scrunched up. Frustration is a ball in his throat. He wants to scream and claw and get it out. But he doesn’t.

With a breath through, he turns away to explore the compound. There is a small herb bed beside the building he woke up in. Dick guesses that's why the tea tasted so fresh.

He steps inside the building. Weapons greet him, betray that falling would have hurt a lot. It seems as if he pushed one of the stands over, there are still carvings in the dry earth, but Shiva pulled it back up.

"So much for weapons are unnecessary," Dick mumbles with a roll of his eyes. He slowly makes his way back to the main building, miffed, looking down at the stream as he walks over the narrow wooden bridge. Dick has a feeling that he'll come to despise the water running through the compound.

Back in the main house, Dick cannot help but realize how silent it is. Near spooky. If Dick could still be spooked that is. He walks past the kitchen and a common room of sorts; a training room, a library, and what Dick guesses are private rooms. He isn’t sneaking around per se but it feels wrong to explore the place without Shiva around.

(Of course, she might actually be around. That, probably, is what makes the house so spooky.)

He still walks on, unsure what else to do now that he has been left to his own devices. Shiva didn’t say much when she brought him to his room and then she was gone. Guided by his musings, he comes to the end of one of the corridors. The room to his left is backlit and might just be connected to the terrace he saw. The faint smell of incense lies in the air. It smells flowery but warm and earthen at the same time. A little sweet.

He slides the door open, and the large and colorful painting takes him by surprise. He recognizes that it’s Indian by the style, can guess that it represents Lord Shiva, but it's not a version he knows. The dancing god is half-male and half-female, split down the middle. For a moment, all Dick does is stare, unsure if he is encroaching on territory Shiva does not want him in.

His curiosity wins. It's not as if Shiva would have left him alone if she thought he wasn't supposed to see this, and the room isn’t any more protected than the others.

Three smaller pictures line the wall opposite the sliding doors that lead out onto the patio. One is of Otomo, Shiva, and a woman Dick doesn't know. They are standing in a dojo, black belts around their waists. Shiva and the woman are grinning. The one beside it shows a man beside Shiva. He tickles Dick's memories, but Dick doesn't quite know why. The curling black hair seems more familiar than the face. The same with the stance. The information escapes his grasp, will come back when he least expects it, Dick knows and turns towards the third picture. It shows the woman from the first picture again. She has her arm around Shiva and around another person, a man, but his face and parts of his upper body have been burned away. Shiva and her look older than in the one with Otomo but just as happy.

They might have been sisters by blood or at arms. Would there even be a difference for Shiva?

Dick can guess he shouldn't be anywhere near this room. Out of respect if nothing else. Still, he stays, looking at the pictures for a moment longer before returning to his own room for the night. Shiva is still nowhere to be found.

Dick doesn't feel more than the slightest hunger, his mind is filled with too many thoughts. He can wait until tomorrow to eat. His stomach is a bit queasy anyway. And he knows where the kitchen is if he does end up hungry in the middle of the night.

With a sigh, Dick pulls his smartphone out from a side pocket of his backpack. It's already warning him that he has lost connection to his provider. Dick opens his radio app. There must be a connection available. Either analog or satellite. Shiva might be enigmatic but even she needs a connection to the outside world. 

His thumb hovers. 

Should he tell them that he has made a detour to Hong Kong? Should he tell them that his plans have changed? If he can make it back before they expect him, they don't need to know that he left the Philippines at all.

Is it fair to them, though? Does he really want to end up like Bruce? Isn't that why he started this journey? To not be like Bruce?

Dick sinks down onto the bed, back leaning against the wall as he stares down onto his phone.

 _I miss you_ , he types down, nearly erases the three simple words only to wonder why. When did he become so secretive? Why is he trying to shut them out if all he wants is to belong with them? Dick breaths through, lets his head tip back against the wall.

"I miss you," he recites once he hears the pinging sound of the activating voice input, "More than I thought. You're my friends. My family the same way the circus was. I want to be a better leader. I want to be better for you. I think I can only become that half a world away. I'm sorry. I'll see you soon. 

"Promise."

[RENUNCIATION]

Dick positively inhales the rice, stacking up a second portion in a way that makes Shiva raise her brow. Strangely, she looks more amused than exasperated by his presumably normal teen boy behavior.

And looking amused while raising only one brow? Damn hard. Dick would know. He has tried. In front of the mirror. Kory laughed so hard at him she nearly burned down his room with her flaming hair.

"I'm guessing you didn't eat dinner yesterday?"

Dick refrains from licking the seasoning of his lips, instead picks up the napkin and pats it off the way Alfred has admonished him to do since he was ten. 

"Couldn't," he settles on, and Shiva hums, sipping on her tea. It smells familiar. Dick thinks Bruce likes to drink the same brand of green tea.

"Couldn't," she repeats, lips ticking up, and Dick instinctively knows he just made a mistake, but she doesn't elaborate, and he doesn't ask, only cringes internally.

The air is still crisp as they step outside. His clothes are still drying on the clothing line, slightly sway in the wind. Tiny waves crest against the stone that frames the stream. They splash against the bridge.

“You came to me. To change,” Shiva says lightly, her hands in her pockets as she watches the stream. Dick tilts his head just enough to keep her in his field of vision.

“Yes.”

“You are proficient in a fight. But are you prepared to prove your willingness to change?”

Her brown eyes meet his. They are different from his mother's and Alfred's. Darker and brighter all at once. Dick doesn't answer, simply stands in front of her, chin raised.

He came to change. Followed the storm to cease the burning of his heart.

"The Leopard Fist,” she stops, face scrunching up. “Hiraken Tsuki," she corrects, snorting, "Sometimes English sounds so juvenile." She makes another pause, head tilting. "Your mentor never learned it.”

The words take Dick aback, so much so that he blurts out: "Batman?"

"Do you have another one I should know about? Anyone that might miss a little sidekick? Actually, that could be quite interesting."

Dick levels a glare at her that she is entirely unimpressed by. "Why? Why didn't he learn it?"

There is nothing Bruce can't do. Nothing Bruce won't do except killing. He has learned that the hard way. For Bruce not to learn something... Dick wants to learn it instead, wants to shove into Bruce's face that he learned something Bruce never dared to.

"It's a Dim Mak," Shiva explains, which isn't surprising. It's exactly what Dick thought it would be. So, does he want to learn it? Does a killing blow have any right to be in his arsenal?

"Show it to me," Dick says because a Batarang could kill too, and Shiva grins.

"Alright, Little Fox, pay close attention," Shiva says, and Dick is barely out of the way before she strikes. The grass feels damp as he rolls over it, sticking to his cheek. His toes keep touching the ground, one hand outstretched so he can roll away again. His breath has quickened, his heart is in his throat. Shiva's face is shadowed by the sun even as she rises, the middle joints of her fingers brown where they struck the earth. Standing over him, she looks more like a praying mantis than a leopard.

Dick slowly rights too, looking at the stripe of grass that now lies upturned between them, earth exposed.

"Did you look or were you too scared?"

Dick frowns, hand curling. The Leopard Fist is like any other technique he has learned. Except for the fact that it is meant to kill not subdue. He gets why Bruce never strived to learn it, why just the thought made him step back. Does he want to risk killing someone because he got used to the wrong hit?

"Your girlfriend would understand."

Dick looks up from his fist or half fist. The leopard fist only requires the curling of the first two joints of his fingers. At least that is what he saw. "What?

"The Starfire. Is she not your girlfriend?" Shiva asks.

"Should I simply exchange shadows in which I stand?

"No. But you seem to need another shadow to drag you out beneath the Batman’s," Shiva laughs, obviously speaking about Clark, about Nightwing. "And they would understand, would they not? Your friends."

Kory would. Donna maybe. And Roy, so… 

It’s not as if Bruce has any moral ground to stand on when he used Kryptonite against Clark. Kory holds back when she fights with star bolts that could incinerate people. Donna holds back when she doesn't hit as hard as she could. Clark holds back when he uses his heat vision to help instead of to maim.

Can this technique be used just as versatile? Is there anything else but the kill behind a Dim Mak? But what is a killing blow in the life he lives? What might kill a human will not kill an alien or a metahuman or a demon.

"Target the weak spots?" Dick asks, hesitantly, and Shiva hums.

"Throat, ribs, solar plexus, side of the stomach," she counts, circling him, "kidneys, groin, bladder, back muscles, inner arms, jugular vein.

"The side of the face, eyes, cheekbones, bridge of the nose, upper lip, jaw, and temples."

His skin tickles. He does not want her at his back.

"It's prone to self-injury," Dick mumbles, still looking down at his hand, seeing slowly where it got its name from, and yet never forgetting where Shiva is.

"I think we are past hitting sand or the wall or doing push-ups on our joints," Shiva says, and Dick realizes it’s a requirement. He isn’t a beginner, and she will not treat him like one. Is that not what he wanted? "But, if you are scared, Little Fox, you can also use your metacarpals, the palm of your heel or the side of your hand."

Dick huffs, fingers stretching out. "People think his one technique is your superweapon?"

"People see what they want to see. That makes them so amusing. You know that all too well, don't you?"

He does.

So, what would Bruce see? Another futile act of a teenager that believes he is better than anyone? A mind not truly developed deciding on the wrong path. Behind the cold dismissal of his actions would be disappointment and that is what has always hurt the most. 

And how will he train this technique without killing someone? How can he ever hope to incorporate this technique if he constantly has to worry? Is this worth it? Does he want to learn or is it simple rebellion that has brought him to this point? (Shouldn’t he be above that? Isn’t that what he told Bruce?)

But before him only lies earth, not a human, not a life with a conscious. His knuckles sink into it as he crouches down, pressing his joints in.

"Teach me more," he whispers into the wind because it is what he came for, and leaving now would only make him look back with regret.


End file.
